


Pieces of Me

by Titti



Series: Welcome To My Life Universe [3]
Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-11
Updated: 2006-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:44:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titti/pseuds/Titti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas vacation can be really boring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pieces of Me

In California, Christmas breaks are spent waiting for a sick father to recuperate from ice pick injuries, listening to the ramblings of a drunken mother, playing games on PS2, and watching the gardener get all hot and sweaty under the warm sun.

Logan is willing to admit that the first two aren't so common, but the last two… oh the last two are practical the universal pastime in Neptune. Of course, the bored drunken housewives are the ones who salivate after the gardeners that their husbands pay so handsomely, but Logan isn't one for traditions, not when breaking the rules can be so enjoyable.

He has spent the last thirty minutes, looking from behind the closed Venetian blinds covering the slide door, watching Weevil do something mysterious with the dirt, and who knew plants required so much work. Not that Logan minds, not when the result is right in front of him.

Weevil has shed his sweater long ago, and is now in a tight white shirt that stretches across his chest and arms. The jeans are tight enough that every time he bends down Logan can admire his fine ass. Then, Weevil picks the water bottle; he tilts his head, and squeezes the water over his face. Logan watches the drops of water slide down Weevil's neck, he imagines the water go down covering Weevil's chest, he can almost taste the water and Weevil's skin on this tongue.

This secret lover thing sucks, Logan concludes, but not as well as Weevil. If this were a girl, he could just go up to her, and kiss her, but Weevil isn't a girl, and he's still the gardener, and keeping the affair secret is part of the finest class-divided Neptune tradition.

Logan slides the door open. "Navarro, get your ass in here, if you want to keep your job," he yells across the lawn. He wonders if anyone is paying attention, probably not, but the show can't hurt.

Weevil straightens up, smoothes his pants with his hand, and then glares at Logan. Even at a distance, Logan can see Weevil roll his eyes, or maybe he's learned Weevil's facial responses in the past week, or possibly he knew them from before. Not that it matters, because Weevil is coming his way, and Logan is smirking.

"What do you want?" Weevil asks in a challenging tone, but he turns to close the door, and takes the time to make sure that it's locked.

Logan presses against Weevil's back, and his hand slides down to cover Weevil's crotch. "Probably the same thing you do."

Weevil chuckles. "No, I want to finish working, I want to take a shower, I want lots of things, but sex with you wasn't in the plans until later." He turns around abruptly, pinning Logan against the door. The blinds clank against each other and the glass. "I shouldn't have started fucking you." His lips nip on Logan's neck while he speaks. "You can't seem to get enough."

Logan doesn't think Weevil minds. It doesn't sound like he does, but really why is he even thinking when Weevil is sucking on his neck like he's got a vacuum in his mouth. Logan rolls his head back, closing his eyes. "I'm not the only one having fun."

"Yes, you are…at the moment." Weevil's hands are on Logan's pants, unbuttoning them, and Logan thinks that it's the best idea possible, after all he's spent way too much time picturing what they would be doing once he could get Weevil into his room.

When he thinks that things can't get any better, Weevil is on his knees, freeing Logan's cock from the confines of his boxer (and no more embarrassing Christmas boxers), and where did he learn to do that with his tongue? It should be illegal, because it has Logan squirming already, but he can't move. If he moves, the blinds move too, and if they move, people can see them, and he tries, really tries to stay still.

Weevil lets the cock pop free out of his mouth, and smirks at Logan. "You finally get it, don't you? You wanted to do this now, but you can't make any noise, and you can't move."

"Bastard," Logan breathes out.

"I'm not the one doing the threatening."

Right, leave it to Weevil to bring up such an unimportant detail. It's not like he really meant to fire Weevil, but then it sounded so good, and Logan would smirk again, but Weevil thinks it's time to take Logan's cock into his mouth again, and Logan's smirk turns into a moan. It feels like summer sun, hot and exciting, and Logan seems to have discovered poetry and analogies, but only when Weevil sucks him off, because there is nothing so perfect like feeling the back of Weevil's throat with his cock, and none of his girl friends could deep throat.

Oh God, none of his girlfriends did that either!

Weevil's finger is inside him, moving slickly in and out of his body. And when exactly did Weevil find the time for lube? Probably during the vacation that Logan's brain seems to have taken.

When the fingers become two, and move against that place inside him, Logan gives up any hope to stay still. His fists hit the blinds, and they rattle against the glass, but he can't hear, not with the blood throbbing in his ears, running with lust through his veins.

He feels Weevil take a hand at a time and bringing it over his scalp. Logan should have thought of that; it makes less noise, and Weevil is hot and sweaty under his touch, and that only makes him drive between Weevil's lips faster and faster, babbling incoherently as every brain cell is sucked out of him, spilling with his semen into Weevil's mouth.

Logan looks down and watches Weevil wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Better?" Weevil asks with a smirk, and why is he coherent? He shouldn't be coherent, but then he isn't the one who just got the best blowjob on earth.

"Mmm…" is Logan's answer. It sums up pretty nicely how he feels.

"Come here."

Logan doesn't object when Weevil pushes him toward the desk, bending over it. This time, it isn't fingers; it's Weevil's cock sheathed in latex and lube that pushes into him. Damn if Logan's prick doesn't try to answer, but even a teenager needs some time; it doesn't mean that he can't enjoy the ride, feeling stabs of pleasure run through him every time Weevil hits just the right spot.

Logan raises his head, and their reflection in the mirror mesmerizes him. Shirts still on, his pants and boxers down to his ankles, Weevil's pants down to his thigh, thrusting in and out, head thrown back, stealing every bit of pleasure. They are the image of sin, and the wicked side of him almost wishes that his father would find them this way.

He watches with hunger for that one moment. He feels it before he sees it. Weevil's fingers tightening around his hips, the itched breath, the moment of stillness before the quick snaps of Weevil's hips, and then Weevil dropping over his back.

Logan waits until Weevil's breathing returns to normal. "You're heavy."

"I'm not." But before saying it, he moves his weight on his elbows. "You're really gonna get me fired." With a sigh, Weevil stands up, takes care of the condom of raises his jeans. "I have to go back to work."

"Stay. We can play PS2," Logan says as he fixes his own clothes.

"Remember? The job?" Weevil says with a smile.

"Who's gonna know? My father is still in bed, drugged up to his eyeball, and I'm king of all this," he says, spreading his arms around the room.

"Come down, your majesty. There is still your mother. You remember her, right?" Weevil checks himself in the mirror, the shirt is tucked back in and he's ready for work, but then Logan is behind him, resting his chin on Weevil's shoulder.

"She's too drunk to remember her name. C'mon, stay for a few games. It's getting boring here." Logan knows that he looks like a mix of a kicked dog and a bastard; Weevil likes that look. "Please?" In a week, Logan has learned the power of this simple word.

Weevil sighs again. "All right, just one game, though."

Logan doesn't bother to argue. He knows that it will be more than a game. Hours later, they are still sitting there, challenging each other at Grand Theft Auto, and Weevil doesn't ask why Logan doesn't play with Duncan, or why he doesn't go out with the other 09ers. Weevil knows that the others only see pieces of Logan, different roles he plays. Only here, only in front of a PS2, playing with a boy from the wrong side of the track, Logan can be who he really is.


End file.
